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Out On The Hillside

Summer will come with its warm, clear light,
      And the long grasses wave;
But O, may the rain fall soft tonight
      On that little last grave.

Nay! He is wrapped and warm in his nest,
      He would not hear the rain;
It is only I would know the rest,
      If it beat on the pane.

But, rain, if thou fall, O softly fall,
      Wet not too soon the mould,
Lest I should listen to hear him call,
      Crying out in the cold.

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